


Mandothon Prompts

by amukmuk



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, F/M, Fluff, steamy fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23564215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amukmuk/pseuds/amukmuk
Summary: A series of tales inspired by the daily prompts from Mandothon.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Winta, Din Djarin/Omera, Omera & Winta (Star Wars), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Omera (Star Wars)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 47





	1. Recovery

Omera hadn’t meant to fall. It’s just… there was a basket and, if she’s being completely honest, she was gawking at a certain someone and tripped. As if the fact that she fell wasn’t embarrassing enough, her dislocated shoulder just adds insult to injury. Din, may all the benevolent forces of the universe bless him, is not taking her injury very well. He follows her around tirelessly, ensuring that she doesn’t jostle her arm in her homemade sling. And while she loves the having him so close… she is getting a little annoyed at him constantly doing everything for her.

“Din, love,” she smiles as he attempts to help her with her weaving. She’s grateful. She really is. Din Djarin is good at _many_ things, but weaving is not one of them. While he thinks he is being helpful, he is currently causing her more work.

He tilts his head in response and she gently takes his calloused hands into hers.

“You know I love you.”

He nods slowly.

“And you know I’m incredibly grateful for all you do for me.”

He nods again.

“I think I can handle my weaving just fine, though.”

He smirks and stands, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of her hair. “Keep an eye out for those baskets. I hear they’re dangerous this time of year.”

She swats him away with her good arm, earning herself an honest to goodness laugh from him. Bouncing down steps of their home, he turns and tosses a cheeky grin over his shoulder at her.

Omera stands in front of the shower, defeated. She can’t undress. She can’t even undo her hair. Her forehead is slick with sweat from her several futile attempts to do any of the aforementioned tasks. “Din?” She calls. “Are you out there?”

He is immediately at the door of their bathroom. “What do you need?” His voice gruff with seriousness.

Pulling the door open, she huffs, “I need your help.”

He gawks at her. “With?” He finally prods.

“Everything,” she’s so frustrated she could cry. She hates being helpless. Never in her life has she been this incapable of moving. Even after she gave birth to Winta, she was up and moving in a matter of hours.

He steps into the bathroom and closes the door. “Turn around,” he murmurs, and she does. Gently, he begins undoing her braids and pulling out the magenta fabric she had tied into it. When her hair is fully and completely undone, he steps back and asks, “What else do you need?”

“I just… I just really need to wash my hair. If nothing else gets done, I just…” she trails off.

With a gentleness that anyone else would be surprised by him having, he sidesteps her and begins running water in the tub. “Sit down, I’ll be right back,” he motions to the floor and she does. She reclines so that the tub hits her in the middle of the back, and he returns with a shallow bowl and some towels. One towel he drapes around her shoulders and the other he rolls up into a pillow and places between her and the tub.

He eases himself down onto his knees, only wincing a little when they pop and crack, and gently places her inky tendrils in the tub. Taking up the bowl, he fills it and pours it over her hair.

She tries not to moan.

“Is this too hot?” His voice is soft, just above a murmur.

“No,” she rasps. “No, this is fine.”

He hums in acknowledgement and keeps pouring the warm water over her head.

She relishes his gentle touches. Of course, Din is never _not_ gentle, but he has never tended to her hair in such a reverent manner. He slowly, methodically, moves his deft fingers through her locks, working out any knots caused by a hard day’s work. The motion of him lightly combing his hands through her hair is possibly one of the best sensations she’s ever experienced, and she can feel relaxation seeping into her joints.

He rises to grab soap and she tries not to whimper in protest. But when he returns and begins massaging her scalp, there is not enough self-control in the universe to prevent the moan the escapes from her lips. One man should not be allowed to be as talented with his hands as he is.

She feels more than hears his soft chuckle in reaction to the erotic noises she’s making. As he digs his fingertips into scalp, a part of her brain can’t help thinking of those hands _elsewhere_. But just when those thoughts begin to bloom, he stops and begins rinsing her hair.

When her hair has been completely rinsed, he wraps a towel around it and leans back to look at her. “Feel better?” He asks, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Mhm,” she hums. “Help me up?” She asks.

As if she weighs nothing, he wraps an arm around her waist and hoists her up, keeping her body close to his. Once fully upright, she winds her good arm around his neck and kisses him, deeply and thoroughly.

Now it is him that was moaning as he winds his arms around her, pulling her even closer. When they part, a dopey smile smears across his lips, crinkling his eyes and revealing the dimples she loves oh so much.

“Can I ask for your help with something else?” She purrs, pressing a kiss to the base of his throat.

“Anything,” he exhales.

“Can you help me,” she kisses his neck again and feels him shudder. “Take some of this off?”

His answer comes by way of his lips on hers. Yes, Din Djarin is good at _many_ things. Helping her recover from an injury by distracting her with his sweet and tender love is definitely, _definitely_ one of them.


	2. Persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din is persuaded.

The party is in full swing, the bonfire is raging, people are singing – off-key and drunkenly so – and dancing with merriment. Birthday festivities are quite a spectacle here on Sorgan, especially when someone surpasses a milestone. A friendly face in the village has finally turned fifty and people are rejoicing the wonderful life they have and toasting to another fifty years filled with more beautiful memories like tonight.

Din sits quietly at the edge of the party watching people dance and toss back more spotchka than they probably should if they want to be up and in the ponds early in the morning. Vaguely, he thinks that morning meal will be served later tomorrow, and everyone will be much less… merry then than they are now.

With a grace that she hasn’t lost in old age, Omera slips next to him on the log. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

He hums the affirmative and nods.

“You should dance with me,” she smiles. The way her lips turn upward is unfairly beautiful. Especially now, with the warm glow of the fire illuminating the angles in her cheeks and highlighting the amber hues in her dark eyes.

“You know I don’t dance,” he mutters, averting his eyes. He can’t stay firm and look her in the eyes. He can’t do it. Her eyes have the power of persuasion that can make the most devout of men succumb to heresy.

“You dance with me all the time.”

He nods and looks pointedly at his feet. “Yes, in the kitchen, where no one else can see.”

“But it’s such a wonderful party… Besides, anyone who would make fun of you is too wrapped up in their own celebration.”

He knows what she means; scanning the crowd, he sees Winta wrapped in the arms of her boyfriend. If Winta were to see his terrible dance moves, she would have no choice but to laugh at him and hold this day over his head until he died.

Or until she killed him with embarrassment, whichever came first.

“Din,” he hears her plead and he looks over to her.

_Such_ a bad idea.

Her big, brown, almond-shaped eyes look up at him through long, fluffy eyelashes and he’s _gone_. As if on autopilot, he rises from his over-turned stump and offers to help her up. Grinning, she accepts, their calloused hands fitting together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

He doesn’t move them to the crowd, though; even after all this time, he still hates crowds. Instead, he pulls her into his chest, both of his arms circling her waist and her arms wrapping around his neck. The song is technically a lot faster paced than how they’re moving, but neither of them mind moving slowly. For him, life has always been fast paced – before Sorgan, that is. And she’s always been happy moving as fast as he is willing to go.

So now, they sway slowly to the beat, celebrating the life of a friend and creating memories of their own to be cherished for days to come.


	3. Extinguish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din has to extinguish a fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Day 11: Extinguish
> 
> I might write something that comes after this with the prompt "mirroring" but I don't know.

“Thank the stars you’re here!” Winta exclaims when Din enters the long hall kitchen.

“What? Why? Are you okay?” He rushes in, forgetting his original purpose for coming here to begin with.

“Yeah. I just,” she haphazardly runs her hands through her dark locks. “Mom’s helping someone restore the Ph in that one pond and she left me to cook dinner for tonight and I have no _idea_ what I’m doing and the last time I cooked dinner by myself I gave everyone food poisoning and I don’t want to do that again because I felt so bad and we didn’t get any work done and-”

“Breathe,” he interjects, taking his shoulders into her hands. “Breathe. It’ll be okay… I’ll… I’ll help.”

“You will?” Her eyebrows crinkle as she gives him an appalled look.

He has no idea what he’s doing either, to be completely honest. His skills in the kitchen consist mostly of warming up pre-packaged food and valiantly serving as Omera’s sous chef. “Yeah, sure, yeah.”

What’s the worst that could happen?

As it would turn out, a fire is the worst thing that could happen. As Din stamps out the grease fire Winta caused – and he’s not even certain _how_ – he realizes that this girl simply attracts trouble. Between the bees, the mudslide, the drunkard at the bar…

He thinks he may need to wrap her in bubble wrap.

“What in the two moons is going on in here!?” Omera exclaims as she barges into the kitchen. And oh, are they a sight.

Din is frantically stamping out a fire, while Winta watches in horror, the front whisps of her hair singed from The Incident. “I…” Winta begins.

“It was my fault,” Din says, trying to spare Winta the embarrassment. “Wasn’t paying close enough attention to what I was doing.” The fire is finally out, and he wipes the sweat from his brow. If he _truly_ hadn’t been paying attention to what he was doing, there is a very good possibility that they would have lost the entire long hall. The grease fire had started too fast for him to prevent altogether; however, he did manage to swat the water out of her hand before she poured it on the flames.

“No,” Winta protests, catching him off guard. “It was my fault, Momma. Dad saved me from burning down the whole building. I’m sorry.”

Omera sighs and crosses her arms across her chest. “I’m glad everyone is okay; you both gave me a fright.” As if this is new either. Together, they have a knack for getting into all sorts of trouble. She swears that they will be the death of her one day.

“We’re sorry,” Din says. Then clearing his throat, he looks down at his boots and back up at her through thick eyelashes. “But I think dinner might still be edible?”

A laugh bubbles out of her. “Is that right? What is for dinner anyway?”

“Chicken surprise?” Winta bashfully shows Omera the plate and she nods, stifling down another laugh. They are both so clearly proud of their attempt at cooking without her. Looking between them, father and daughter, it is clear that whatever words come out of her mouth next will either make or break them as future chefs.

“Smells delicious,” she says with a kind smile. Okay, so it may not be the most aesthetically pleasing plate, but it does smell good – nearly seasoned to perfection but burnt to a crisp. The fire is most likely the culprit of the charred skin; Winta normally undercooks everything.

Din and Winta share a look of triumph.

“Not to ruin the fun, but tomorrow we’ll have to go into town to see if we can buy some stuff to repair the damage,” Omera motions to the charred wicker of the wall and ceiling.

“Of course, Momma,” Winta looks down at her feet shamefully.

“But for now, let’s enjoy this delicious meal,” Omera ushers them out into the dining hall so that they can serve the casseroles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so we are just assuming that Sorgan has chickens, I really don't know...
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! Your comments and kudos are greatly appreciated <3


	4. Mirroring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is a reflection of Din if not a sassy teenage girl?

Omera rises from bed first, as per usual. She’s always enjoyed rising early to watch the sun make its ascent. Sometimes, Din joins her, and other times she sits out here by herself with a cup of tea and enjoys the sounds of the wilderness around her. This morning, she sits outside alone, a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, with a cup of tea in hand. She should probably wake them soon, her little family, but they are both sleeping so peacefully. When she had last checked up on them, Din, as per usual, was sleeping on his back, hands folded neatly upon his chest and Winta was splayed out across her bed, feet hanging off one side, arms off the other. However, they have errands to run today and if they have any intentions of making it back before dinner they should probably get started.

She starts with Din, mostly because he is the easiest to wake up. As soon as she leans close to him, he awakes with a start and then gives her a dopey smile.

“’Morning,” he grumbles.

“Good morning,” she kisses his cheek. “We should probably get a move on.”

With a lethargic nod, and then a stretch that pops some of the vertebrae in his back, he begins throwing the blankets off. Omera watches him only for a moment – she loves how soft he looks in the early morning with his hair tousled and his eyes still droopy with sleep – before she goes and wakes her daughter.

“Winta?” She calls, already preparing for the battle that will be had. “Winta?”

Her daughter groans and pulls the pillow over her head.

“Winta we need to get a move on if we want to be back in time for dinner, let’s go.”

She groans again, but then – to Omera’s surprise – begins tossing her blankets back and gets out of bed. “I’m up, I’m up,” she grumbles and shuffles into the bathroom, where Din is already prepping his toothbrush. Winta does the same and they stand there, sharing the mirror and sink.

Omera stifles a laugh at the sight. Their body language is exactly the same. They are both using their right hands to brush their teeth while their left and causally resting on their hip. Both of them currently are sporting rats’ nests instead of smoothed locks and both of them, are looking blankly into the mirror with sleep still dragging their eyelids downward.

Shaking her head, she moves into their bedroom to begin getting dressed for the day.

Omera can hear them talking outside. She can’t hear what they’re saying, but she can hear the low murmur of Din’s voice followed shortly thereafter by Winta’s chirps. Quickly, she finishes packing their bag for the day, complete with sandwiches and a canteen, and heads out onto the front porch.

The father and daughter stand in the golden sunlight, next to the speeder, strapping their weapons to their hips. Watching them, she can’t help but smile at how similar they are. Both motioning to each other, deep in conversation, their mannerisms are nearly the same. Winta has picked up his exasperated head tilt, accompanied by a deep sigh, but he has picked up the way her eyebrows wag when she’s trying to make a point.

“Are we ready?” Omera asks as she walks down the steps.

They both turn at the waist to face her. “Yep!” Winta chirps.

Din nods silently and offers her a hand up into the speeder, which she accepts graciously. Behind him, Winta rolls her eyes and climbs into the back, unaided.

The trip into town is peaceful, or as peaceful as it can be with Winta chattering about her friend and her friend’s on-again-off-again boyfriend. The rumor is that he was caught with another girl in the woods and he’s denying it but Winta’s friend doesn’t believe him.

Ah, youthful drama.

Upon their arrival into town, they immediately set off in search of lumber to fix the hall. It doesn’t take long – there are several vendors on Sorgan that sell lumber – and when they find one, both Din and Winta nominate Omera to bargain. Winta is still learning the art of bargaining to get the best deal and Din is about as conversational as a tree stump when it comes to people trying to haggle.

“We’ll wait by the speeder for you. Let us know when you’re ready for our help,” Din says as she heads in to discuss prices.

“Of course,” she gives him a subtle nod and looks at her daughter. “Don’t cause any mischief.”

Winta rolls her eyes. “Why does everyone always assume it’s my fault?”

Omera just shakes her head and goes inside, praying to the stars that nothing terrible happens.

She ends up getting a great deal. With a smile of success plastered to her face, she steps outside, and her chest is instantly aflutter with unconditional love for her family. Din and Winta are both leaning against the speeder, ankles crossed, hands folded across their chests. Looking at them like this, it is obvious that they are one in the same.

“I see nothing happened in my absence?” Omera teases as she approaches her chaotic duo.

With a huff, Winta unfolds herself, “No. Dad tried to start a fight.”

“I did _not_ ,” Din protests. “You’re the one who threatened to shoot someone.”

“What would you have done?” Winta, puts her hands on her hips.

Din does the same, “I would have just shot him.”

“You know what, I don’t want to know,” Omera puts her hands up. “Will you help me load the lumber into the wagon?”

“Of course Momma,” Winta declares with a nod.

“Of course,” Din nods as well and, brushing past her, sneaks a quick kiss on her cheek.

Omera watches them, a soft smile toying at her lips. They may not look anything alike, but they are reflections of each other. Sass. Sarcasm. And fast to a blaster. Of course, she will tell neither of them this. She doesn’t want them to become self-conscious of their new mannerisms. No, this will be a secret that she will keep, tucked away in the folds of her heart.

“You gonna help or you just gonna stand there?” Winta calls to her mom.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Omera waves and goes over to help stack lumber.

**Author's Note:**

> Just to let y'all know, this takes place in the same universe as "Retirement"!


End file.
